


Numb is Not Always A Bad Feeling

by Sherlock_has_the_Tardis_in221B



Category: British Actor RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Depression, F/M, How Do I Tag, Implied/Referenced Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-11
Updated: 2016-06-11
Packaged: 2018-07-14 12:19:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7170803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlock_has_the_Tardis_in221B/pseuds/Sherlock_has_the_Tardis_in221B
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reader is struggling with depression and anxiety. Tom, your best friend, comes over and finds you in a seemingly numb state. He helps and fluff ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Numb is Not Always A Bad Feeling

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this after a bad episode of depression. Do Not Read if you are easily triggered. This is my first work, so be gentle with my fluffy feelings. I do not promote self harm or suicide.

_10:34. I've been sitting here for over 2 hours._

Your mind didn't register the thought. You didn't feel the stiffness of your muscles or the tingling in your feet.You had stopped crying after the first hour of sitting there. You were too tired, too exhausted to care. You were numb. 

You remembered the yelling of your parent(s) over the phone. You had had an awful day at school, completely overwhelmed with the coursework that's required for your major. You then went to work at the _(favorite store)_  shop down the street of the campus and got yelled at for constantly spacing off around customers. You went home and, in your anger, smashed the picture frame of a picture you drew when you were little. You sank to the floor and curled into a ball, holding a shard of glass in your hurt hand. You had been trying to hold it together for the last couple of weeks. Your anxiety  and depression had been getting worse, to the point that you skipped your last lecture the day before. The voice inside your head kept tempting you to use the glass.  _You know you want to. One little cut won't be that bad. It's been so long._ You gave in and drew the glass across your wrist three times. Three perfectly parallel lines. The blood bubbled to the surface and slowly dripped down. You didn't care. It still didn't make you feel. You just laid there and stared at the wall. 

Knock, Knock, Knock. 

 _Tom. Y_ our mind vaguely remembered the Friday plans you made with your best friend. Friday typically included binge watching a tv show or bad movies with pizza and greasy popcorn. It was a ritual that you started freshman year when you met each other in the dorms. And you completely spaced.

 _He can't see me like this._ He knew about your mental issues and had helped you through anxiety attacks, but you left out the self harm and the suicide attempts. 

 _I have to get up. He can't know._ But your body refused to move. 

"(y/n)! (y/n), where are you?" he called, getting more frantic after he searched your apartment.

He cautiously knocked on your bedroom door. "(y/n), are you okay?" he asked. When there was no answer, except whimpering, he burst in.

"(Y/N)!!", he rushed to your side and looked at the sight before him. Your hands were covered in blood.You were still holding the shard of glass. You were shaking, crying and whimpering. You didn't register that he was there.

"(y/n), can you hear me?", he softly asked, starting to try the techniques you told him to use whenever you had an attack.

He slowly moved his hand toward yours and took the bloody shard of glass out of your hand and took it to the trash and threw it away. He came back with your large first aid kit you kept for this purpose. He thought you were just being safe. He took a strip of cloth and pressed it against your wrist to stop the bleeding. You suddenly became aware that someone was touching you and you jerked away and whimpered. 

"(y/n)? It's Tom, sweetie. I'm just trying to help you, okay. I promise I won't hurt you." he reassured you and started to treat you again, slowly, watching for your response. 

"Tom?" you asked, out of your stupor. "Hey (y/n), do you know where you are? What happened, sweetie?" he asked, relieved that you were responding.

" I was...I came home and I had a really bad day. I punched the  glass picture frame and I guess I.." you trailed off, gesturing to your arm that he was holding. Your voice sounded hoarse and small.

"We'll talk about this later. Right now, we're gonna get you cleaned up and in bed, okay?" he said, as you yawned and kept shaking.

"How long have you been lying here?" he asked. "I'm not sure. I can't remember much after I got home around 6." you responded. " 

"That was 3 hours ago sweetie. It's okay. Let's get you cleaned up." 

He picked you up and carried you the bathroom. He turned on the bath and looked at you.  You stare at him and give him a look. "I'm not taking off my clothes in front of you." 

"(y/n), you need to warm up. I'm not gonna judge or do anything you don't want me too. I just want to make sure you're safe. I'll be right outside the door." 

After a few minutes of struggling to undress, you finally call out for help "... I can't get my shirt off by myself. It hurts." Your muscles really hurt and you were weak from sitting in the same spot for hours. He comes in and helps you undress, looking away to give you your privacy and helps you into the tub. "I'm gonna go make you some soup." he says and turn away but, before he leaves, he leans over you and grabs your razor on the side of tub and walks out. You should be mad that he doesn't trust you but then you realize that he's trying to protect you and the anger fizzles away.  You turn off the warm water and quickly wash off the dried blood and rinse, being careful with your arm. You get out and put on your softest loose pajamas and wrap your wrist like you've done before. You walk into your bedroom and find Tom sitting there with a tray. It has your favorite soup on it, along with two white pills, a glass of water, and a bar of chocolate.

You climb in bed and sip at the soup and eat the chocolate.You're always tired after an attack and sugar helps.Tom sits there in silence, letting you relax and come to terms with what happened. After a few moments he speaks, "(y/n), I need to know why you hurt yourself."

"I....I don't know what to say. It's something that I've always done since high school. It usually helps me feel or calm down. I wanted to feel something." You explain, but turn away and start to cry. The silent, slow cry that just consumes you. 

Tom pulls you close and strokes your (h/c) hair and hand you a tissue and the pills with a glass of water. He softly says, "Take these. They'll lessen the pain and help you sleep." 

You obey and lay your head on his chest. "I just want you to be safe,(y/n). You don't have to talk to me about it, but you do need to talk to someone. I'll go with you if you want." he offers. 

"I just don't understand while you haven't left yet. Or why you would want a broken friend to hang out with. You have better things to do with your Friday night." you say quietly. 

"Why would I leave? You are my best friend. I made a promise to stay by your side two years ago and I intend to keep that promise. You're not broken at all. You will get through this. Promise me that you'll come talk to me if you want to do this again. Even if you already have, just come get me. I want to help." 

"Okay.', you promise. 

"Good (girl/boy). I'm staying with you tonight to make sure you're okay." he states. You don't respond. You're already half asleep. He continues to stroke your hair and whisper sweet nothing into your ear until you fall asleep. It may not be easy and it may take a long time to get better, but you know you'll be okay. 

 

 

 


End file.
